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The use of prey is to crawl.
Kaladin knows that — Lezian knows that. The purpose of the chase is to force your enemy to run, if not run to stumble, if not stumble to crawl. The beauty of fear is that it debilitates. The moment you stop fighting, Kaladin remembers his sergeants saying, you’re dead; retreat is never too far gone, and most soldiers die when they panic. He’s found truth in their words dozens of times, but they’ve never been chased by something that’s forgotten the warmth of the sun days ago.
The everstorm lurches just beyond Urithiru’s windows, and Kaladin crawls yet. His purpose here is to act prey because it’s what Lezian likes. It’s fooled him once, and he’s probably got another shot of it fooling him again. If he can just pretend, like his friends so far away, if he’s got a shot of pretending he’s got another shot at surviving an encounter with Lezian. He can’t run — not truly, not well, and he can’t hide, not forever, so the encounter must be survivable to be won. You don’t have to win, they just have to lose.
Lezian is falling for it. Or maybe he isn’t and he’s pretending, too. Kaladin’s back spasms from the stress, his shoulder blades itching. The coolness of the Urithiru’s marble floors soak through his clothes and make his sweat more noticeable. It’s been days since he’s taken a shower. It’s been days since he’s seen proper sunlight.
“Little Windrunner,” Lezian coos in his heavily accented Alethi voice. Whenever he speaks, he’s got a cacophonous rhythm beating from his gemheart that Kaladin can hear like distant thunder. If Kaladin does live, he’ll have to ask Rlain to teach him some of the beats and what they mean — he’d like to be able to decipher their meaning past this singer wants me dead. “Why do you crawl?” Lezian asks. “Death is forever for your kind, Little Windrunner, I heard you’ve gone out of your way to hurt for other people. Anything to spare them, mm? How about this: when you’re dead, I’ll stop bothering the other humans. Just give in.”
Kaladin’s heart hammers. “Liar,” he croaks. The effort of speech is like pushing a boulder up a hill — his mouth is cottony and dry and his spit is thick, clinging to the roof of his mouth. The dark feels closer than ever, oppressive with Lezian at his back.
Lezian catches up to him easily. Leaning over him at a squat, Lezian’s huge shadow completely envelops Kaladin. It makes him briefly claustrophobic and his heart jackrabbits to a human equivalent of panic. The carapace on Lezian’s frame looks like crescent moons and moving serpents at the edges as he adjusts his weight. “Little Windrunner, it’s dangerous to be provocative against me. You’re in a bad situation, you see. I’ve got you, better than ever. No Stormlight, and no one’s claim on you supersedes mine. I have always and will always be able to find you again. I would have torn the tower apart to find you.”
From another person, in another story, Kaladin could have found sentimentality in those words. From Lezian, in this reality, he finds them daunting and horrifying. There is a certain religious zeal from the followers of Odium that he’s known of ever since he first heard of the Blackthorn — their possessiveness over the violence they wreak. The depth to their brutality always unnerved Kaladin, even as a child. The similarities between the Pursuer and the Blackthorn are uncanny — Kaladin’s stomach can’t stop dropping.
Kaladin swallows fiercely. “You won’t, though.”
“No?” Lezian says. “And why is that? You’re almost out of Stormlight, Little Windrunner, and you crawl on dysfunctional limbs, paralyzed with fear. Why wouldn’t I kill you?”
“I’m not done running.”
“No prey ever is.” Lezian’s red eyes pierce through him. But he gets off of him, miraculously so. He steps back from Kaladin as if unsure of what he’ll do. And Kaladin isn’t sure what he’s going to do either. The darkness surveys him, and turns him over and inside out. It is so exhausting to crawl. Anything would be better. Lezian pores over him, watching his every move, waiting to see if he’ll use a Lashing and give him a proper chase.
It seems more respectful than Lezian was previously capable of.
“Take me,” Kaladin whispers to the everstorm.
“With pleasure,” Lezian says, then Kaladin disappears.
The everstorm is rough. It’s a brutal, raw event, and not made for him. Kaladin absolutely believes that the Radiants brought Odium with them, but he is not positive he was their god; he hates Kaladin, more than any honorspren, and that hatred is tangible in these visions. Like the other highstorm visions that Kaladin has experienced, he’s in the storm — is the storm — is the debris inside the storm, but he hates himself.
He’s getting thrown in different directions — unlike when he’s ridden a highstorm, he doesn’t get to choose where he looks. Sometimes he’s down at the base of Urithiru and runs his cheek along the dirt; sometimes he’s high up, so close to the sky but revoked from seeing what’s above the everstorm. The pain of the rain and disorientation jars him so profoundly that he’s startled awake and full of adrenaline. He doesn’t fight back against the formlessness of these visions or the way he feels like he’s getting torn apart.
The rain pelts him to his core inside of the everstorm — different from a highstorm’s neutral rain that means neither harm nor aid but is. This rain wants you soaked and dead. The debris is unnatural. The things the everstorm — Odium — yanks from the ground seems intentional, like a malevolent god that is striking with undue violence against bystanders. It feels like a neglected child trying to burn a village to feel its warmth.
Kaladin closes his eyes and lets the pain of being in the storm surround him, but he doesn’t give in. Odium cannot have his fear like he took Amaram’s. He curls his formless spirit into a ball in the everstorm, and waits.
Lezian is spitting fire, blasting every singer along his way to find out where Stormblessed went. His anger is a living spirit inside of his gemheart, attuning Fury inside of his chest. It pounds cacophonous beats that make his skin jump. Stormblessed vanished before Lezian’s lance could be unsheathed like the wind itself swept him away from Lezian’s grasp. He attunes Craving despite his humiliation — desperate for an answer on where his little rabbit went.
He’s a red streamer of light between the floors of the tower. The everstorm crackles and thunders outside, frightening the humans — he can hear them cajole, terrified of their new reality. Let them be frightened, he thinks, it would earn Stormblessed an easier death to take after their timid nature. He weaves between singer guards, the lower level prison cells, and zig-zags on top of the balconies. He searches for Stormblessed and gathers shanay-im like windspren before they disperse when they realize he’s chasing nothing but air.
His Voidspren his ringing with irritation. It hums Destruction, and so does he, a double-booming voice down the halls of the tower in the middle of the night.
He’ll kill the Windrunner. He’ll slaughter Stormblessed. He makes his way to Raboniel, still singing along to Fury.
She hums to Ridicule when she sees him. “Lost your rabbit again, Lezian? I wonder how he gets out of your clutches every time. Do you specifically let him go just to relive a challenge?”
“He vanished,” Lezian says, his Voidspren humming louder to Destruction. “ Vanished, I’ve never seen a Windrunner do that. It was like something the Bondsmith can do.” He narrows his eyes at her, bucking up. “You’re not hiding him, are you, Lady of Pains? You know that I have claim.”
She smiles at him, the storming femalen. “No. But don’t go after me in your confusion, Pursuer. I’ve laid the carpet for your hunt with Stormblessed. I’ve already told you I think he’s useful alive, but I agree that your tradition is important for morale. When you find him, do try your best. He’s caught you on the runaround twice now, and I bet he’ll be able to do a third if you’re not careful.”
She was calling him stupid. Lezian snarls, then zips away, leaving a husk behind in front of her. He goes back to where Stormblessed was last seen, spinning in tight circles, leaving behind a sparkler’s trail like red stars.
Kaladin comes back to Urithiru soaking wet. It’s so uncomfortable. He feels sickly, like a little kid stuck outside and comes back with a sniffle. He came back on a balcony but shuffles to one of the inner floors with a little effort. He feels more alert, yes — but also like he kind of wants to die, which isn’t far from how he usually feels. Lezian will be back soon, if he’s not already here where Kaladin can’t see, and angry.
Is there anywhere left to run? No, probably not. But Kaladin still rises on unsteady feet, pressing his hand to the wall and searching for that garnet light. “Sibling…” Kaladin murmurs.
“It’d work better if you had Voidlight,” Lezian says, and Kaladin jumps out of his skin, the shakes rapidly returning. He looks back and sees Lezian at the mouth of the alley, his glowing red eyes the only visible part of him in the everstorm’s darkness. Briefly, a lightning strike will flash, and Kaladin will see some marvelously marbled colors, and forget he’s about to be murdered. “Now that the Sibling is dying.”
“I couldn’t,” Kaladin admits, his voice determined. “Even if it meant living through the occupation, I couldn’t harm spren like that, using corrupted Light.”
“Oh, I know.” Lezian says, trotting up to him. He towers over Kaladin; he has to look straight up and for once, he gets dizzy. Kaladin slumps against the wall. He’s trying to preserve strength by not standing up, but he knows that’s flimsy. Lezian looks at him with all the curiosity that a whitespine looks at a dying axehound. Its body plump, domesticated. Maybe collared. Could he turn this around?
“Tell me, Little Windrunner, where’d you go ?” Lezian says. He dips low, squatting again but this time to look Kaladin in his eyes. Kaladin’s throat bobs with focus as he watches Lezian. His rhythm becomes less destructive — Kaladin couldn’t call it wanting, but storms, he seemed curious. Kaladin had no energy for lies.
“I was in the everstorm,” Kaladin says. “Odium let me in.”
Lezian smiles. It’s furious, even without rhythms Kaladin can tell that much. His tone, Kaladin jinxed it, turns back to that cacophonous and destructive one — as if sensing that Kaladin felt even an inch more comfortable. “I suppose that makes you the human champion, and not that freak we’ve found in Avendla, mm?”
“Vyre,” Kaladin murmurs. “He’s your human champion?” That takes Dalinar out of the equation. Is that better or worse? Storms, I can’t die here.
“We’ve given him our honorblade, so he must be, isn’t that right? But two humans who have been chosen to see our storms is strange.” Lezian draws nearer, inspecting Kaladin’s jawline, his eyes, and the way his clothes hang and stick to him in different areas. In this light, or lack of it, he looks sickly and thinner, but his clothes still stick where he’s been gutted. Lezian talks to himself when he says, “humans don’t have mateforms. I couldn’t play with you even if you tried. If you were a son of traitors, I’d at least throw you in the storm to turn.”
“Mateforms?” Kaladin says. “We’re always in the listener mateforms. We don’t have any other form, so we fit everything in one.” That’s what Rlain told me.
“Who told you that?” Lezian says. “And you say listener, Little Windrunner, the only people left are singers.”
“Untrue,” Kaladin snaps, “unless he’s been turned, I know of one listener. And he’s alive. I’d feel it if he died.” Kaladin slumps further. His voice is still boisterous, but his limbs ache, and he’s soaked to the bone. He slides down the wall, unable to grasp for a handhold in his current state. Lezian watches like a hound.
“Such an interesting creature you are, Little Windrunner,” Lezian says. He gets oppressively close: leaning forward and squatting on top of him, Kaladin’s vision is busied with Lezian’s marbled skin and his carapace. “You don’t run? But you provoke me as if trying to get me to snap. Tell me I’m wrong. What’s your game? Why are you so convinced you should still have hope?”
Instead of killing him, the flat of Lezian’s palm presses against Kaladin’s torso. Nothing is hidden after his escapade in the rain; everything is translucent and sticking to him and his clothes are freezing. When Lezian touches him, Kaladin feels every textured inch of his palm. Lezian is over nine feet tall with huge limbs, and his fingers can easily wrap around Kaladin’s waist as he feels over him. Lezian’s wrist rubs absently against Kaladin’s crotch and, despite himself, his breath hitches.
Lezian’s humming changes. Kaladin calms his jackrabbiting heart. “What is that one?” He says, forcing his voice even. He can’t let his fear show. The dying axehound must fight, must buck up against the whitespine. “That rhythm?”
“Craving,” Lezian answers, flicking his eyes to look into Kaladin’s. There might be a show of respect in this little alleyway. It’s a conscious effort to remember that Kaladin’s eyes will always serve as a reminder of his Radiant status, regardless of how desperately he’d like for them to go back to brown. In this dark alley, they could be black. When the everstorm lightning flashes, it lights up his eyes in a perfect sheet of white, showing how blue they truly are — that of the purelake, he heard someone say once. Lezian’s gaze doesn’t falter from his, but he does make a strange noise like a clicking of his tongue when he can see them in better clarity. Kaladin continues to sink down the wall until he’s almost scrunched into a ball. “Do you know my name, Little Windrunner? I know yours. I’ve known yours months before you knew what I was.”
“Lezian,” Kaladin says. “I heard Raboniel call you it.”
“Good, Stormblessed,” Lezian says. He grabs Kaladin by the jaw and tilts his face up. Despite his terrible fear, Kaladin’s body spasms and reacts — there’s a confused arousal stirring in his gut, making his thighs twitch and flex. He rocks his hips minutely into the air, adrenaline bleeding into his libido. They say whatever you fear most turns you on, or something. Storms.
Lezian’s mouth is surprisingly gentle on top of Kaladin’s. The carapace on either side of Lezian’s mouth is like keratin lightly dragging across the side of Kaladin’s jaw and the corners of his mouth. Kaladin reaches forward to grab at Lezian’s clothes for a bit of leverage, heat pooling in his belly. Everything about how big Lezian is makes Kaladin feel like a child in comparison, wrapped in the warm embrace of something he’s rapidly losing the advantage on.
“It’s been a long time since I mated,” Lezian says with a hint of amusement, “back in my days, Fused as you call us, we mated as freely as humans do. We don’t need to transform ourselves like listeners.” After a moment, Kaladin nods absently.
Storms, he thinks, he’s gonna fuck me. It’s better than dying. Having sex with a Fused is better than dying to one, especially one called the Pursuer, so Kaladin takes what he can get. He might as well enjoy the attention. He spreads his legs more freely. The exhaustion is hitting him again waves now that his body knows he’s not fighting for survival. Lezian watches him as he adjusts. “Do I —” he pauses. Do I need to show you might be too provocative; Lezian could kill him easier here than anywhere else he’s had him before. For once in Kaladin’s storming life, he’s got to be subservient. “What do I need to do?”
Lezian undoes the buttons on Kaladin’s shirt, popping them off with a meticulousness that doesn’t usually come from Fused. Maybe Kaladin had been mistaken, then — that while he was unhinged and not entirely stable, he wasn’t insane like the others, the ones who talked to themselves or the walls. Kaladin’s shirt sticks, especially to that gut wound that took forever to heal from Raboniel a few days ago. And his jagged double-mastectomy scars beneath his pectorals show, which Lezian takes a particular interest in. He’s probably not ever seen them before. The carapace on the back of his hand twang against of his stitched-back nerves, feeling more like static before a lightning strike than a touch.
“These?” Lezian asks, tracing the pink lines. “I thought you Radiants healed everything.”
“It’s a part of my identity,” Kaladin says, looking down at them. He remembers just being beyond Hearthstone in Amaram’s army. Just before he’d truly been bunkering with the other soldiers in the boys’ quarters, he’d started the process of breast removal so the surgeons on deck would have to finish the surgery. It was why his lines were so jagged because he’d only had a dagger and not a scalpel. The lighteyed surgeons were appalled: but due to their oaths, they never told, and the highmarshal had specifically said every one who wanted to go went. That section of Amaram’s army didn’t have ardents to sign off on his transition, so everyone just kept it cool. The other boys his age thought the scars looked good and constantly asked about them. The older boys, and the men, they didn’t ask — soldiers are good with that.
Lezian’s hands keep going over them. First, it’s his thumb dragging across the curves, and then his hand over the entirety of one side of his pectorals, squeezing. “How much do you feel?” Kaladin’s back arches. He feels so small. Panic runs alongside arousal. He hopes the fear will keep his hormones running.
“It’s enough,” Kaladin pants. “And down there, everything’s in order,” Lezian nods. He takes less care tearing Kaladin’s pants, flicking the button off to the side with one finger and pulling them down fast enough that his pants rip at the meat of Kaladin’s thighs. His underwear is soaked — pelted through by rain, but has a very human smell of discharge and slick. When Lezian’s finger searches against Kaladin’s boxers for his cock, he makes a small noise — like a purr.
“Hah, are you kidding? You’re even smaller here than in ordinary humans,” Lezian says. “I could eat you here whole.” It’s with one meticulous yank that he rips Kaladin’s underwear straight through the center. Kaladin’s already soaking, making his pubic hair curl. Lezian makes an appreciative noise. “This is good,” he says, running a finger against Kaladin’s bush. “Keep this for next time.” He runs his fingers along the trail up to Kaladin’s navel.
“Next time?” Kaladin murmurs. Only in Urithiru, has he had access to testosterone, but the effects are fast and make him fuzzier. He’s gotten hungrier, which only makes now worse when scavenging is difficult, and makes him extremely easy to arouse. His libido is higher than ever, and he’s got no practice having any use for it. He used to be able to ignore it, but now his cock throbs. Touching it is difficult and overwhelming, and Lezian’s curious pets make his thighs flex involuntarily. His back keeps spasming. “Lezian?”
The Pursuer’s head snaps up to look at him in the eyes. His hand doesn’t still, instead, he plunges it inside of Kaladin, moving aside his labia to explore how deep his knuckle can go. It’s thick and warm but hard and scratches the inside of Kaladin’s walls. He thrashes, kicking out his legs and curling around the digit, panting. A single shamespren comes undulating out of the floor. Lezian’s other hand plays with it, clearly noticing it, before smushing it in his palm.
“What, Stormblessed?”
“Can’t you use something with less spikes?” Kaladin asks, irritated, and swallows a whine when he feels the end of Lezian’s finger rub at something sensitive. Lezian’s eyes are too intense, too focused, but he takes his finger out anyway. “Please — I want it.” Storms! Something to relieve the pressure. Heat pools uncomfortably in his belly. Everything is overwhelming.
“You poor thing, Radiant,” Lezian attunes a mocking rhythm, which doesn’t help Kaladin’s throbbing cock, or the way his thighs twitch in response. The disdain is humiliating, and he still feels so much pressure. “It’s hard to think in mateform. You must have been so neglected. How could anyone think like this?” He says it with a twinge of ridicule, but Kaladin’s cock can’t stop throbbing.
To punctuate his point, Lezian rubs the pad of his thumb against Kaladin’s cock, and rubs the length of it between two fingers. Kaladin kicks at the air, where Lezian reflexively catches him by the knee, folding him in half. Kaladin makes a weak whimper, taking the pressure against his dick, and exposing himself as Lezian puts him where he wants him. The heat builds quickly, making Kaladin stifle sobs. He reaches out to grab Lezian by the arm but he’s relentless — tightening on Kaladin’s cock and going fast, until Kaladin comes all over the floor and his thighs.
“Storms,” Kaladin whines, knocking his head back. Once again, Lezian makes that strange purring noise. The heat has died down a little bit, but Kaladin needs more. Lezian looks at him like he’s got no other choice than to keep going.
“You’ll go again,” Lezian says. He attunes something new. A more joyful beat, something he hums along to. Then it goes back to that curious one. Kaladin would like to ask, but his eyes are bleary with unfallen tears and everything is sensitive.
Kaladin, unthinkingly, nods. “Yes, sir.” Lezian purrs.
“Respect is a thankless, but necessary trait, Stormblessed, it will allow you to survive all sorts of encounters with people more powerful than you’ll ever be in your life. Do you understand?” Lezian asks. As he says so, he rubs against his crotch, eliciting something to uncurl and come out of an inverted spot just between the curve of his thighs.
Out comes his cock, long and thick and hard as he gives it attention. Kaladin’s eyes fall to it and he stifles a whine at the very back of his throat, trying to close his legs. Storms, he thinks with rising panic, it’s not going to fit. It’s girthy and marbled just like his skin, with a slit at the head. It looks remarkably similar to human cocks, and only makes this slightly less daunting.
“Don’t run, rabbit,” Lezian says. He tugs on Kaladin’s ankle and pulls him close until he’s laying on his back beneath Lezian’s frame. He’s completely exposed: his shirt is undone, revealing his top surgery lines, and his soaking cunt, with his ruined pants off to the side. If he wasn’t so storming afraid, this would be masturbation material for months. “It’ll hurt less if you don’t run.”
Kaladin is uncertain if that’s true, but he’s trying to remember he wants to be subservient. It’ll get him out of here. He nods against the floor and spreads his legs the farthest they’ll go, trying to allow Lezian an easy entrance. Lezian takes it, grabbing Kaladin by both sides of his hips with one hand, and pushes the head of his cock in. Kaladin jerks, first away and then back on it as he thrashes indiscriminately. Lezian holds him steady through the initial kicking and squirming. Stormfather, it burns. It’s an acute stabbing not unlike the pelting of the rain from the everstorm, and something in Kaladin breaks as he starts to sob. A big heaving breath that devolves into a series of whimpers.
“Rabbit,” Lezian coos, “cracking apart already? I’m barely inside.”
“My name,” Kaladin croaks through a heavy flood of tears, “call me by my name, I’m not your rabbit.” Lezian sits back and shows Kaladin the full length of his cock — how much is still not inside. Kaladin feels himself gag at the thought of it going inside and then suppresses it. He seems to be fond of whatever game of strength Kaladin is trying to play up.
“Kaladin Stormblessed,” Lezian says, lowering himself so he’s hovering just above Kaladin’s face, his chest just above Kaladin’s chest. “Such a human name with human mythos, with no regard to reality or your ancestors.”
Kaladin feels the tears run down his cheek, around and next to the lobe of his ear against the floor. He laughs, his voice breaking. “I guess so. The Stormfather didn’t seem to mind.”
Lezian’s eyes narrow, and then relaxes, stopping to look at him and then dips closer to kiss at the sensitive skin below Kaladin’s eye. He licks away at the tears and begins to push his way in. Kaladin heaves out another sob that wracks his body. He doesn’t have a lot of Stormlight left in the sack on his hip, and though he meant to save it — to keep Lezian from acknowledging the very few spheres he has left — he has to suck in Stormlight to keep himself awake from the pain. He feels as if Lezian is actively readjusting what size cock he can take.
When Lezian pulls out to push back in, he checks his cock. It’s hard to see, in the light and the red marbling, that there are some speckles of blood on his dick. Kaladin’s thighs and his abdomen are trembling from the exertion. He intentionally breathes out Stormlight back into the spheres so it won’t stitch him back together — he can’t stitch back together just to be broken anew. If Lezian notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Your mateform is working,” Lezian says, so close to Kaladin’s face. He plants firm, but chaste, kisses on Kaladin’s cheek and his undereye, as well as the side of the bridge of his nose. His carapace rubs gently against Kaladin’s jaw. “Maybe you can serve me other purposes than the reputation of being the one who killed you.”
“I’m known to have many talents,” Kaladin says, but still cringes when Lezian pushes back in. This time it’s easier. Lezian is producing slick, and despite the way that Kaladin’s cunt aches, the fear response is making him wetter and wetter. His heart races and he still plants his legs on top of Lezian’s hips, grasping for leverage. He feels profoundly naked, especially against Lezian’s natural armor.
After a time, the pain and burning turn into a sensitive pleasure. Lezian’s cock easily hits Kaladin’s cervix, which is a more painful sensation than he’d expected, and then sits there rubbing against it. Kaladin still flinches, moving his whole thigh in the process, but eventually, the pain becomes a comforting sensation, unforgettable.
Lezian must notice, changing his rhythm back to the joyful one, singing loud enough in his throat that Kaladin can feel the vibrations. Blearily, Kaladin grabs the back of his neck just at his hairline and pulls him closer. It’s hard with a song, but Kaladin tries to align his breathing with the beat.
“What are you… oh, Little Windrunner, that’s a bad rhythm for you to try. Fused and singers know that humans can’t use rhythms, but I’ll see what I can do..” there are a couple of mishaps, like Lezian starts to hum and then fails to attune, tries again and slips into the wrong one — before he snarls under his breath and attunes something much calmer, one that makes Kaladin relax. “It’s more difficult to attune to rhythms you don’t feel, but it is never impossible,” Lezian says.
“What rhythm is it?” Kaladin asks. He’s sleepy. Full to the brim. He’s grabbing onto Lezian’s hairline and trying to breathe through the ache in his belly. If anything could figure out how to pump come directly into Kaladin’s cervix, and give him some singer-human-baby mix, it’d be Lezian. At this rate, Kaladin could be surprised by very little.
“Withdrawal,” Lezian says. “You can probably figure out why I don’t feel it.” He smiles in a possessive way, kissing along the underside of Kaladin’s jaw. It’s hard to figure out why he’s stopped moving, except that both of them are probably the closest they’ll ever get unless Lezian cracks his ribs and tries to fit inside.
“And the other one?”
“Exultation, Stormblessed.” Lezian says. “A beautiful rhythm. A rhythm of power. Not that you’d know, but you can feel .” He kisses Kaladin on the mouth. He traps Kaladin’s jaw in place with one hand grasping from his chin up to his ears, kissing at his lips and the inside of his mouth. Kaladin takes it, overwhelmed, opening his mouth and letting Lezian tongue-fuck him. The rhythm he hums is transferred from Lezian’s throat directly into Kaladin’s skin. Storms, Kaladin thinks, why hasn’t anyone checked if Parshendi have pheromones? Kaladin’s head swims through fog. Why did he want it so bad?
Kaladin relaxes under the pressure of Lezian’s mouth. His legs nearly fall off of their vantage point, but Lezian reflexively catches them before they hit the ground. He leans further forward, touching hips to hips, and then he starts to move. Kaladin groans, jostling when Lezian pulls himself out and then pushes himself back in. He’s close enough that he keeps Kaladin steady from the strain. Kaladin’s mouth opens and doesn’t close.
Lezian folds him completely on the floor. They’re both much slicker, despite the strain of Lezian’s cock. He goes achingly slow, making Kaladin feel every inch of his guts getting rearranged. There’s no need for Stormlight at this rate so he takes lungfuls of breaths at every chance. Lezian starts quietly singing that rhythm — exultation. It’s a little too fast for Kaladin to breathe in tandem with, but he focuses on it. The way that Lezian’s voice is guttural when he sings almost distracts him from the heat, or what remains of the fear.
Lezian speeds up, knocking the air out of Kaladin’s lungs. He pants, trying to suck down breaths when Lezian isn’t hitting his cervix, isn’t going the farthest he can go. Kaladin closes his eyes and swims through the fog to take it, still grabbing at Lezian’s carapace.
Warmth blooms on Kaladin’s stomach when Lezian pulls out to come all over his belly and his chest and rubs against Kaladin’s cock in the process. Oversensitivity attacks Kaladin’s nerve endings, making him cry out, trying to curl into a ball if he could move at all. Lezian still has him pinned, coming in thick spurts all over Kaladin’s bare chest and belly. It’s so warm and sticky, the scent overwhelming, that all Kaladin can do is knock his head back.
He comes quickly as Lezian rubs himself through the rest of his orgasm. Kaladin’s cock seems irrelevant, but he still makes sure Kaladin comes. Overwhelming and with another flood of tears.
At the very end, he sucks in Stormlight to start rebuilding.
“Remake yourself, Stormblessed,” Lezian purrs. “So that I may break you again, next time I see you.” He rubs his knuckles against Kaladin’s tear-stricken face with the generosity of an ordinary lover. He doesn’t stay to clean up his mess, even though his come steadily drips into Kaladin’s abused cunt. “Maybe you have other uses, after all. How fascinating.”
Lezian turns into a strip of red light as he buzzes away, leaving behind a dull husk at Kaladin’s feet.
Exhausted and without motivation to move, Kaladin closes his eyes to sleep.